"$5000 is a lot of money for a drive to work," Tom notices. "It's chicken feed, man," says Tim, grossing me right out with his black bathrobe and greased-up Mob-connected hair. Tom lays down the law: they cannot speed. Why, would that be cheating? Wow, this should be awesome: "I have won $5000 driving in a kindly and defensive manner." Tim smarms that Tom hasn't won a bet against Tim since 1986. So dumb. In the parking garage, Tom lays down more rules: they'll both head down to Howard Hughes Parkway, and the race will begin there. Tim blows this off and says that the race will begin here and now, in this parking lot. I jerk awake but no, it's still happening. They get in their stupid penis cars and go driving really fast out of the parking garage. This is more than I ever wanted to know about Tim: the condo place where he lives has like a miniature Parthenon in front of it. How classy. How JC1K. The generic Hackers music starts, and Tom begins narrating the action for us, irritatingly. Oh, Casino. Can't you give us a freaking car chase without messing it up? Nope.
I'm going to tell you what Tom is saying because it's so dumb and he's so bizarre. I'm going to leave out the fake screeching, and the fact that for this spontaneous car chase there are about fifteen cameras mounted on each car, although they are somehow invisible when you see the cars from the outside, because like everything else this is totally fake. Oh, and additionally? It's hard to tell the majority of the time which car is which, because half of the cars in Vegas are shiny and black, like Tim's, and the other half are shiny and white or silver, like Tom's. So: "There he is. He's right up there. He's driving like a maniac. I am right behind him. Go ahead, [expletive], all the [expletive] you want! I am right up your ass! You're going to make the wrong turn. Don't go crazy now. He just ran the fucking light. Dammit. He is insane. He's crazy. Back in action! I got him! Hoo hoo hoo! Where is he? There he is. Shoot. Son of a...fine! You wanna play that way? Hold on, tires! I bet he was going to go Charleston. He's going to go the wrong way. I'm going the Downtown exit. I got him. Come on! One more block!" Isn't that exciting? It's like you're right there. I don't want to dwell on this, like, at all, but can you imagine what it must be like to sleep with this guy? "Hold on, tires!" Christ.